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mf-despair-queen · 7 years

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Never Let It Get Personal - Mitch Rapp

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Mitch Rapp/Reader

Word Count: 16,419

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Multiple Orgasms, Fingering, Bondage, Oral (both receiving in the form of a 69), Sweet Sex because I’m a sucker for their romance???, Sassy reader, violence and blood because they are assassins.

Notes: Why do I do this to myself? 16.4k later and it’s done. But I really liked this idea. It’s a lot of plot with a smidge of sexy smut because I love Mitch Rapp. But he’s also hella loving. And angry. And I owe @minhosmeanhoe a lot for talking through this idea with me. She is a saint and my Rapp twin. I love her. I hope you guys love this and think it’s worth it.

Heartbreak | Noun | heart·break: crushing grief, anguish, or distress.

Mitch sighed to himself, running a hand through his unruly hair. Hadn’t he been through enough torment in his short lifetime? Only twenty-two years old, and he already lost everyone he was ever close to. It was rare for him to reminisce about those he had lost, but sometimes, late at night, the thoughts creep in to torment his already damaged mental state.

He laid on his cot in the Barn, his eyes drifting to the time in the upper corner of his phone, reading the white numbers. 1:34 AM. Mitch groaned quietly, shuffling under the blankets, peeking around to make sure no one else was awake. The others slept soundly, getting as much sleep as they could for their early, four AM wake-up call.

Mitch rolled over on the cot, resuming what he had been doing for the last hour. Going through old pictures on his phone, watching videos at a low volume of things that used to make him happy. He sighed to himself, closing his whiskey orbs, letting the memories pass over the backs of his eyelids.

He thought back to happier times, remembering the fun times he had as a child with his parents. Birthdays with them, vacations with them, just general good times. Until he got the call into the office one day at school, the principal having a sullen look on his face when he told the news to the young boy. He was only fourteen when he lost his parents.

His life should have fallen apart from that moment, instantly shipped between different boarding schools because of his “increased behavioral issues.” The only thing that made anything bearable in his shithole of a life was one person. His best friend, the girl who never left his side, no matter how shitty things were or how much of an asshole he became.

You were always by his side.

He knew you, literally, since birth. Everyone used to joke that you were inseparable, even in the womb. You went through thick and thin together. He could easily say you were the one to singlehandedly hold his heart together after the accident, encouraging him through everything, pushing him to stay strong. You were the only reason he took his full-ride scholarship to Syracuse for lacrosse, and it was only because you were going for a track scholarship and agreed to room with him. He knew he could count on you.

He knew you were different, and you held a special place in his heart. You were his best friend. Hell, he wouldn’t argue that you were his first love. You were his first… everything. First friend, first kiss, first roommate out of high school, and even his first of many times. He was afraid to go further with you, but even more afraid of losing you when he started seeing Katrina.

Katrina never was quite the same. As amazing as she was, she wasn’t exactly… well, you. He loved Katrina will all his heart, but he loved you more. However, he was resigned that he had no future romantically with you, afraid of the rejection you would bestow on him. So, he put everything into his relationship with Katrina. Even then, you were there for him, his heart aching, yearning for you to stop him.

He asked you for your blessing the day he was set to leave for Spain, holding his mother’s ring up in front of you, the silver glinting in the sunlight streaming through the blinds. He prayed that you would tell him no, to tell him that you wanted to be with him. But you just smiled, kissing his cheek, giving him a thumbs up before shooing him out the door so he wouldn’t miss his flight. He sighed to himself, wanting to clear his mind of the thoughts of you and thinking of his future he was bound to have with Katrina.

You were by the side the entire time he was in the hospital when he returned, Katrina-less. He was heartbroken from his loss, but you still held his heart together, keeping him strong as he recovered. He kept you out of the loop as he began to plot his revenge, wanting to avenge the hundreds of people, including his fiancé of twenty minutes, that were gunned down mercilessly. He saw the way you looked at him in worry, but he always assured you that he was alright.

He had one regret in his life, and that was the argument he had right before you left on an overseas school trip to Rome roughly six months after he lost Katrina. It was a silly argument because he had gotten drunk one night after returning from his usual gym and gun range runs. You didn’t like seeing that side of him, but he yelled at you, claiming that you didn’t know what he was feeling. He knew he was in the wrong when he awoke the next day, but he never got to apologize.

The tour you were on just outside the city was attacked by some terrorists, killing everyone on the bus. It was reported that no one survived. With that news, his heart completely shattered into a million pieces. He had lost his fiancé. He had lost the girl he loved more than anything without telling her his true feelings or apologizing. He had nothing left to hold him together. His heart hardened into cold stone, his sole focus on eliminating all threats from the world.

Mitch blinked back a few tears, surprising himself that he was even tearful right now. He hadn’t cried in over a year, not since he found out that you were gone. He scrolled through various pictures on his phone in the midst of the darkness of the Barn, bypassing ones of him and Katrina to find your smiling face. He finally clicked on a short video, making sure the volume was low enough that he could still hear it without waking anyone.

You were holding his phone, walking through your tiny apartment, playing with your hair. “Mitch left his phone in the bedroom,” you whispered, probably not wanting to draw his attention. He could see himself in the background on the couch, reading through a book, attempting to learn Arabic. “He’s been so busy with this Arabic class I guess, but he needs a little distraction.”

The video jostled in your hand as you shuffled over to him, yanking the book out of his hand and dropping onto his lap, his face coming into view next to yours. He rolled his eyes, letting out a small groan. “What are you doing, Y/N?”

You smiled into the camera, leaning against him. “You’ve been really distracted as of late, so I figured I would get one small laugh out of you. Plus, you can never have enough memories of us together, Mitchy. That way, when you are a big businessman, you remember your best friend for life.” Mitch cracked a small smile, shaking his head. “There’s a smile. That’s all I needed.”

“You’re a dork, babe,” he said.

“I know, but you love me,” you replied. Your hand reached up to play with the scruffy beard he was developing, glancing away from the camera at him. “You also need to shave. You’re more handsome with a trimmed beard. Just a bit of scruff to leave beard burn on a girl’s thighs, but not too long to look like Santa.”

“Duly noted,” Mitch joked, looking away when you placed a kiss to his cheek.

That’s where the video ended. He looked longingly at the image of your lips on his cheek, his heart jumping inside him. If only things were different.

“Mitch, shut off your phone and get to sleep. We have to be up and running in two hours,” someone called out from across the room. Mitch sighed, closing his photo gallery. His stared at his wallpaper, a picture of you both at the beach a year before he met Katrina. Hs arms were around your bare waist, placing a kiss to your cheek, your eyes closed and hands holding his. It was the night he took your virginity, and you took his. It held a special place in his heart.

He finally locked his phone, setting it aside and closing his eyes, attempting to get some sleep. Though sleep never came. Mitch was forced out of bed at his normal time, running around Hurley’s property with the others, doing his daily routines of strenuous exercise, gun practice and fight practice.

His day was thrown for a loop when he was told to visit Hurley. He was relieved of his duties, heading back to the barn to change into a fresh pair of jeans and tight black shirt, keeping his beat up black shoes paired with his new clothes. He jogged from the Barn, around to the steps to Hurley’s large forest home, bounding up the stairs two at a time. He rushed through the halls into Hurley’s office, knocking on the door.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Mitch asked, Stan turning to face him. The older man motioned for Mitch to sit, Mitch stiffly sitting in the chair across the table from him. A laptop was open on the table, Stan typing a few things on the keyboard. “You’re not showing me more videos of Katrina, are you? I’m not in the mood for that shit again.”

“I’m not,” Stan’s gruff voice came. He sat in a chair, staring with a stern look at the chocolate-haired male across from him. Stan rubbed his face in annoyance, groaning softly. “You know, a lot of the guys have brought up that you’ve been up at night a lot lately. They see you on your phone at odd hours. Reminiscing of the past, Rapp?”

Mitch swallowed dryly, his Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down as he did. “No, sir,” Mitch replied quietly. “I just can’t sleep, so I’ve been on my phone till I can relax. Nothing about the past involved.”

Stan chuckled, obviously not convinced. “Right. Then, what about the pictures?”

“Pictures, sir?”

“Of Katrina. Pretty girl you had, Mitch. But you already knew that. That’s why you proposed.” Stan paused, sizing up Mitch’s reaction. “Or, what about Y/N? The best friend you grew up with?”

The computer was spun around, a video from Mitch’s phone playing. You were clad in just one of his button up shirts and some underwear, standing over the stove as you made breakfast. You didn’t know he was recording as he sat at the table, chuckling to himself. After a minute, you turned to him, blushing at the sight of the phone he was holding.

“Mitch, are you recording me?” Your perky voice came, Mitch fully laughing from behind it.

“But of course. You just look so cute when you are making breakfast like this. Do I want to know why you are wearing my shirt though?”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the stove. “All of my clothes are in the washer and I spilled beer on my clothes last night. This was the first shirt I could grab from your room.”

“Well, you should wear my stuff more often,” he joked. “You look amazing in them.”

You laughed, tossing a blueberry his way. He remembers catching it in his mouth, a smile breaking out on your face. “Stop being a cheeseball and set the table.”

Mitch growled as the video ended, jumping up in his seat. “This isn’t fucking funny anymore! Why do you keep rubbing these things in my face?”

Stan glared at the man, shutting the laptop. “Because you need to get over it, Rapp. You’re still weak. You want to become one of us? Grow the fuck up,” he grumbled deeply.

Mitch jumped onto the table, throwing a wild punch at Hurley who stepped back, grabbing the computer wire and wrapping it around his neck. Mitch was pulled from the table onto the floor, Stan holding the wire tightly around his neck. Mitch attempted to lessen the weight on his neck, gasping for air.

“I told you to never let it get personal. And what are you doing? Letting it get personal!” He screamed, finally letting Mitch go. The trainee rolled onto his side, coughing and heaving for precious oxygen. Stan knelt down, facing him with a hard stare. “You will get yourself killed if you let your personal feelings get in the way of a mission. Do I make myself clear?”

Mitch stayed silent for a second before finally looking up at him, nodding. “Yes, sir.”

“Good, now get packed. We are scheduled for the next flight to Istanbul. There is supposed to be an arms dealing involving a trigger for a nuclear bomb someone is building. We are to intercept the deal to prevent the production o this bomb. You are coming to cover my ass,” Stan muttered, Mitch vacating the room without as much as a rebuttal to his boss.

Betrayal | noun | be·tray·al: the action of betraying one’s country, a group, or a person; treachery.

The short, brown-haired man waltzed into the dark room, tugging the beanie atop his head off and scratching at the beard he had trimmed that morning. He watched the body in the room squirm under the blankets, groaning to himself. With a quick yank of the curtains, sunlight streamed through the windows. The bright light filled the large room, the man’s green eyes landing on the mound of blankets on the bed.

“Get the fuck up, Y/N. I didn’t bring you here to let you sleep the day away,” he said bitterly, tugging the blankets down with one hand. Your head poked from the confines of the soft fabric, glaring at him.

“You brought me here because you’re a douchebag and can’t let a girl get her beauty rest. Just because you saved me in Rome and trained me to protect myself doesn’t mean I need to wake up at odd hours to help you with your stupid antique trading,” you retorted, pushing the blankets off regardless.

“I should have let you die with the others then,” he mumbled, sitting in a plush chair in the corner of the hotel.

“You wouldn’t do that, though. I’m too important because I’m fucking amazing at my job, Ghost,” You told him, glancing at him through the mirror. Ghost rolled his eyes, slouching in the chair. “I thought you’d see it my way. You need me to finish this bomb.”

You walked into the bathroom before Ghost could reply, stripping off your clothes and sitting on the edge of the bathtub. You thought back to that day, remembering the gun held to your forehead, shallow cuts from different knives lining every part of your skin. You were the last one alive of everyone on the school tour because the terrorists that attacked the bus got a different response from you. You were resilient, whereas everyone else jumped to try and save themselves, ending in a quick demise.

The man holding the gun to your head spoke quietly to the others, your ears unable to discern what language he was muttering in. His finger itched on the trigger, your eyes closing with resolve that you would no longer see the light of this world. You would never finish school, have a family or kids, or even tell Mitch you were sorry for everything.

When the shot rang out, you felt no pain. Your eyes cracked open slowly to see the men around you glancing around frantically, one by one dropping dead with bullet holes in their foreheads every time another shot went off. By the time the last one fell, you attempted to clamber to your feet, your hands tied behind your back. A man emerged from the dark underbrush, a rifle strapped to his back and a mysterious glint in his eyes.

“I saw the way you fought back,” he had told you as he untied your hands. “You know, the American Embassy was notified of the attack and they did nothing. They left you to die. How does that make you feel?”

“Angry,” you remember came your short reply. Ghost had smirked at you, his hand on your cheek.

“Good. Let’s channel that anger so you can show them that you aren’t to be forgotten. Do you want to be strong, girly?”

You didn’t deny him. You were mad that your home did nothing to stop these people from killing harmless civilians. You weren’t going to let that go. They were going to let your life go like it didn’t matter. So, if this man in front of you could teach you the ways to sow them it wasn’t something to fuck with, you would give him your everything.

“Hurry up! We are meeting Sharif soon for the trigger. You can pretty yourself up later,” Ghost said through the door, his fist heavily pounding on the polished wood. You sighed, gathering fresh clothes from the cabinet in the bathroom, primping yourself to look somewhat decent.

You were rushed from the hotel, Ghost close on your tail. He told you the plan on the car ride over to the restaurant. You were going to help keep an eye out while Ghost got the trigger from Sharif. He handed you a pair of knives, saying that guns would be too obvious. As soon as you had arrived, you hid your knives in the back pockets of your jeans, perching at a table near the edge of the restaurant.

It was quiet, Ghost approaching Sharif at the bar. You scanned the crowd of people, spotting a large, burly man shuffling towards the bar. “Man approaching, six o’clock. Most likely armed. He has a hand under the back of his jacket. Tap the bar if you got that,” you mumbled into the radio attached to the collar of your jacket.

Ghost tapped his fingers once, pocketing the device and turning on his heel, keeping his head down. He was walking directly by the burly man, unsheathing a knife from the apron he was wearing as a disguise. One slip of the knife into the gut of the man, and he was brought down, Ghost pilfering the Beretta from the man’s waistband. Removing the silencer, Ghost glanced around, looking for a sign of back up for the dead man.

“Something’s wrong,” you heard someone mumble not far from where you were sitting. Ghost must have heard it too, his gaze shifting in your direction. You glanced around, spotting a body standing from their chair a few tables away. Your eyes narrowed at the dark-haired man, breath hitching slightly in your throat.

“Mitch?” You said louder than you meant. His eyes shot to you, the whiskey colored orbs widening when they locked with yours. “No way…”

“Y/N? He questioned quietly, taking a few small steps in your general direction.

Ghost must have noticed what was happening, shooting off the gun that he acquired from the dead man behind him. A few quick pops of the Beretta and the crowd was sent into a frenzy. You remained frozen in your spot, Mitch dropping to the ground as Ghost fired a few rounds at him. You saw the gun in Mitch’s hand, his eyes trying to make sense of the fleeing people.

Ghost’s hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you from the restaurant and down an alley out of sight. Your back was slammed into the wall, Ghost’s furious look evident in front of you. “What the fuck was that?” he sneered, his eyes flaring in his rage.

“I-I don’t know what happened. I thought… I thought I knew him. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” you mumbled. You were still rattled, and fearing Ghost would realize that you had lied to him. You didn’t think you knew him.

That was Mitch fucking Rapp in that restaurant. Holding a fucking gun, targeting your boss.

What the hell did you miss?

Ghost pushed himself away from you, huffing. “You better not let it happen again, or I will kill you. Sneak back to the hotel and pack up. We are headed back to Rome to get our scientist to finish the bomb. And keep your eyes peeled. The CIA is running around. Because that man you say you thought you knew is Stan Hurley’s pupil. The new me.”

Ghost walked away quickly, leaving you alone in the abandoned alleyway. You slunk to the ground, running your hand through your hair. “Fuck. Why is Mitch here?”

Hostage | noun | hos·tage: a person seized or held as security for the fulfillment of a condition.

It felt good to be back in Rome. The sun was setting over the beautiful city, lights flickering on as you made your way through the winding roads. You were meeting up with Ghost at the designated hotel the nuclear physicist he hired was staying at. You were warned to be apprehensive, Ghost more than sure that Stan Hurley, his former teacher, would be around.

And that just meant Mitch was not far behind.

Sighing, you bounded into the hotel, tugging you jacket closer to your body, trying not to arouse suspicion to yourself. You slipped through a small gap in the closing elevator, repeatedly tapping the floor you needed. You wanted in an out of this hotel before Mitch showed up because you weren’t sure how you would handle seeing his face for the second time.

The door was ajar when you arrived, closing it quietly behind you upon entering. Your slid the leather jacket off your shoulders, hanging it on the rack by the door, letting your feet carry you further inside. Ghost stood against the wall, eyeing you as your fully entered the room.

“We have a little pest in the room next door,” he mumbled, nodding towards the wall. Your eyebrow rose, not knowing what he meant. He shifted towards the wall he pointed out, crouching down to take a closer look. It was hard to see, but Ghost had trained you well to spot subtle things like this.

A small camera had been fed through the air conditioning unit on the wall, just enough that whoever was on the other side could get a perfect picture inside the room.

“Hurley?” You asked after turning back to Ghost, seeing him shake his head.

“His pupil. Some punk named Mitch Rapp?” He said calmly, picking up a file from the bed. “He has someone with him, but I think it’s someone they assigned to work with them when they showed up in Istanbul.”

“Is that so?” You asked his quietly, stepping back from the camera in the wall.

“Yup,” he said, emphasizing the p. His eyes roamed the open file, an evil smile on his face. “Did you know he went to Syracuse the same time you did? Parents were killed when he was in his early teens. Fiancé was killed in Spain a year and a half ago. Poor kid.”

Your eyes hardened, trying to keep your heartbeat steady. One wrong move and Ghost would figure everything out. “He went to Syracuse? What a coincidence. Must be a lucky school to have bred two cold blooded killers.”

Ghost stood from the bed, walking over to you. “Just a coincidence? Then explain the pictures of you two together,” he bluntly said, holding up a picture of you on his back after one of his Lacrosse games. Your throat instantly went dry, staring up at the brunette.

“I-I can explain, Ghost,” you started trying to say, Ghost shoving you roughly into the wall, his hand on your throat. Your nails clawed at his tight grip, but to no avail. It only seemed to get tighter, cutting off your flow of oxygen.

“You lied to me back in Istanbul. You won’t be lying to me again. Are you with me or against me, Y/N? Because if you are against me and want to crawl back to that pathetic creature in the other room, I will gladly kill you both with my bare hands,” he snapped, his glare harsh.

“I’m… with you,” you managed to straggle out, gasping for air. Ghost nodded once, releasing his hold on you. Your ass hit the ground hard, your hand flying up to your neck as your coughed, wheezing slightly.

“Good. My men are already apprehending him and his little partner next door. I am going to ask your friend rather politely to tell me where Stan is. As soon as I find that out you will kill him.”

Your eyes widened, looking up at the man who saved your life in the past. You stumbled to your feet, leaning against the wall for support. “What? I can’t kill, Mitch! He’s my… I mean he was my…”

Ghost’s hand appeared aside your head, fiercely looking down at you. “Do you have a problem with killing him? He left you for dead, Y/N. He never came looking for you. He’s just like everyone else. They use you until you are no longer useful then dump you like last week’s leftovers.”

Your gaze hardened, shuffling slightly as you spoke up. “Ghost, I have killed fifty-three men for you covertly since you started training me.” You pulled your un from your waistband, glancing at the man looking haphazardly out the window holding a rifle. Aiming without a second glance, one quiet pop later, a bullet was embedded into the man’s skull, smoke seeping from the silencer attached to the barrel of the gun. “Actually, make that fifty-four. I’ve eliminated threats and men that have come so close to exposing you. Would me killing Mitch Rapp make big difference?”

“Yes,” he spoke quietly, stepping away from your body. “Because killing Mitch fucking Rapp will show your complete allegiance. And show that you are 100% over him. That you are no longer in love with him and won’t let him tie you down.”

Ghost walked away, leaving you alone. In love with Mitch Rapp. Did you still love him? Of course you did. Did you want to return home with him? Of course you did. Did you ever act on these feelings? Of course you didn’t. You were too afraid then, and you were too afraid now. Especially now. Things would never be the same.

You shook your head, your body trembling with fear. There was no possibly way that you could bring yourself to shoot Mitch. He was, and always will be, your best friend, even after everything that had happened. But you couldn’t let that show now.

The door swung open, multiple footsteps sounding in the living room area of the suite behind you. Two thumps were heard, Ghost’s other disciples yelling for Mitch and whoever he was working with to put their hands behind their heads. You placed your gun back in your waistband, slowly heading for the doorway.

You leaned on the frame, taking in his looks now that you had a better chance to look. His shirt rode up slightly from his position on the floor, his familiar happy trail peeking out of the black fabric. Veins protruded from his arms more than you remembered, but hell, you weren’t arguing. It was one of his best features. Your eyes locked on his dark, whiskey brown orbs, looking away when you realized you had been staring and catching his gaze. His look had been hard, but something sparkled behind it. He was trying to keep from acting rashly. Stan had warned him multiple times on the way to Rome not to let his emotions get out of hand.

“You’re sure it was her,” he had asked Mitch multiple times. “Then, you remember what I told you about not letting it get personal? Now this is the time to remember that. You let it get personal, you let your emotions out, you let your endless love for this girl get the best of you and you will find yourself in a casket buried 5 feet under. Because I will not bail you out.”

Ghost walked in front of the two for a second, leaning down to look at Mitch. “Tell me, Rapp. Where is dear old Stan Hurley? He’s got to be near. He wouldn’t let his pup out of his sight.” He stared into Mitch’s dark eyes, speaking calmly once more. “Hurley, Rapp. Where is he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking-“ Mitch started, getting cut off by a slap in the face. His head turned to the side, letting out an almost inaudible grunt from the impact. Your eyes clenched shut unconsciously, taking a deep breathe to keep from saying anything out of line.

He turned the Mitch’s companion, a young girl with fair skin and dark hair. “How about you, sweetheart. Where is he?” When neither answered, Ghost began to get furious, yelling loudly, “Tell me where Stan Hurley is!”

“Ghost, calm down. Yelling won’t make them talk,” you told him, finally looking up. Mitch’s eyes shot to you, fighting to keep a frown from appearing on his lips.

“Well do you have any better ideas?” Ghost sneered. Your shrugged, walking closer to the group.

You stood in front of the two hostages, eyeing the girl carefully. “I don’t think she will help. She doesn’t care about Stan. She has her own agenda.” You got close to her face, smirking at her. “What’s you deal, princess? What’s in it for you to help stop us?”

“Y/N,” Mitch mumbled, catching your attention.

“What, Mitch? Why are you even here? You didn’t care back then. Why care now?” You snapped, moving to face him.

“I’ve always cared,” he mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your eyes locked, your false confidence dropping slightly. “Just tell him what he wants to know. Please. I can’t protect you if you don’t tell him. Where is Stan, Mitch?”

Mitch kept his mouth shut, hearing you sigh in response. You backed away, sitting on the couch, sighing. Ghost groaned nearing the two again, stopping short when the door was kicked in. The older man waltzed inside, gun in hand, shooting a few of the men you worked with, their bodies falling limp on the tiled floor.

Your mouth fell open, watching Mitch and the girl beginning to attack the people behind them, fighting off the men in the room. You glanced at Ghost, nodding him towards the window. “Go!” you yelled at him, pulling out your gun. “I will be right behind you.”

Ghost nodded, locking eyes with whom you presumed to be Stan Hurley before jumping out the window, using the flag on the pole outside to slide down to safety. You turned back to the scene in the room, coming face to face with the girl Mitch was with.

Your eyes widened, raising the gun to shoot at her, her hand shooting up to knock it away on instinct. The gun flew from your hand onto the floor, the girl yelling at Mitch. “Rapp! Gun!” She turned back to you, holding your wrist tightly. “Aw, not so tough now, are you, girly? All talk I guess. You know, I never got why Mitch talked so highly of you. He told me a lot about you and him while we were alone in that hotel room together. Something you won’t ever get with him I guess. He probably doesn’t love you that much anymore since you are so easily replaceable,” she said lowly, a smirk present on her face.

You growled at her. “What the hell do you know? There’s no way he would go for you anyway.”

“How would you even know that?” She glared at you.

“Oh, you’ll see, sweetheart,” you whispered, twisting your arm to break free of her grasp. Her eyes widened, your arms wrapping around her waist to tackle her to the ground. You wrestled with the girl on the ground, blood seeping into your clothes and skin from the dead bodies around you. You were too focused on clawing at the unknown girl, not hearing the gunshots from Mitch shooting the last few men or his footsteps as him and Stan rushed over, pulling you both apart.

You were only seeing red until his voice cleared the air. “Y/N! Stop! Calm down!” Your body relaxed in his arms, listening to him whisper things in your ear to calm you. “That’s right. Relax.” You went limp in his arms, allowing him to tie your hands behind your back and place you on the couch. His hand was on your cheek, wiping some of the blood away from your skin, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips.

Stan cleared his throat, motioning for Mitch. The man in front of you sighed, glancing at you quickly before moving away. The girl stopped him, her hand on his muscular bicep, rubbing it softly. “Are you alright, Mitch? Anything I can do to help?” She said, obviously trying to rile you up with her bad flirting. Mitch didn’t take it though, shrugging off her hand. His gaze turned back to you, his eyes showing emotions he didn’t have when he was looking at her.

“Just go pack everything up from our room, Annika. We will be moving out here soon and can’t waste any more time. We’ve wasted enough time because you decided to cat fight with my girl… with Y/N,” he stated bluntly, disappearing out the door with Stan. Annika’s face fell, watching after him.

You let out a small laugh, her eyes focusing on you. “This is what I meant, bitch,” you mumbled. “Even after all this time, he still cares about me. You are just temporary. You don’t know him the way you think you do.”

“Oh, and you still know him after being gone so long?” She snapped, crossing her arms.

“I’ve known the man the entire life, lady. Assassin for the CIA or not, he’s still the same Mitch I know and love,” you told her calmly. “Besides, he’s been deeper inside me than he ever will be with you. You know why? Because you’re just a shallow bitch that doesn’t understand what is really going on. You don’t care to know Mitch. You might act like you know him or care about him, wanting to be with him, but you don’t. You have your own agenda.” You paused, looking over at her. “You know, if you’re this shallow, I’m sure you pussy is too. It’s no place for a cock like his, not like he will ever fuck you like he has me,” you sassed at her, her mouth falling open at the constant wave of insults.

She glared, taking a few steps towards you. “You little bitch,” she started, getting cut off when Stan and Mitch walked back in. The room fell silent, Stan roughly dragging you outside. You were thrown into the back of a black car, unable to see where you were being taken. Your mind reeled, trying to figure out what was going to happen. Were they going to interrogate you? Were they going to kill you? Were you going to go home with Mitch?

Would you be able to apologize to him before anything happened?

The car came to a halt, Mitch and Stan shuffling from the vehicle. You heard their muffled talking, carefully using your foot to crack the car door to hear them clearly.

“They’ve outsmarted us twice now, sir. Who is he? Why’s this guy after you? Something personal, sir?” You hear Mitch sneering at Stan.

“What about you, Rapp? Your little girlfriend in the back seat. I told you not to let it get personal, yet you’re up close and personal with her in the hotel after tying her up? I should kill her right now.”

Your heart stopped, fearing the worst. You were going to die here. You weren’t going to get to talk to Mitch again. You weren’t going to see the morning light through your window again. You weren’t going to have a family one day. Your life was over.

“No,” Mitch said quickly.

“No?”

“We shouldn’t kill her.” Your face flushed, body warming at his words. He was sticking up for you? “If she’s this guy’s right hand woman, she should know what he’s planning and where he’s building the bomb, right? We can get information out of her.”

That rat was trying to sell you out, wanting to interrogate you? Your heart cracked, unable to believe what you were hearing.

“We don’t have time for that. We have Ghost’s physicist in the trunk that I have to question too. Annika already left to inform Irene of our location and what has been happening. The CIA should be here tomorrow where your little girly will be escorted back to the States to be tried for treason,” Stan replied.

“Let me question her then.” It got silent, and you assumed, Stan was giving Mitch a harsh, stern look. “I can do it, sir! We need to stop Ghost before something happens! Trust me.”

“Fine. You have till the morning. Whatever you find out, report immediately. Get her inside,” Stan murmured.

“Of course, sir,” came Mitch’s short reply before the door was tugged open. You glanced up, seeing Mitch looking down at you with a hard look. He tugged you out by the ankles, throwing your limp body over his shoulder.

“Woah,” you squealed, Mitch grabbing his bag from the floor and heading inside the hotel you had apparently arrived at. “You know, Mitchy. As much as I love this reunion, I didn’t picture it being me staring at your ass. Though your ass looks great in these jeans,” you told him cheekily. You got no response, your slight smile falling. “Take a joke, Rapp. Why so serious?”

No response again. Mitch just kicked open a hotel room door, the door swinging shut behind you. You were thrown onto the bed, bouncing slightly on the springy mattress. You rolled over, struggling to sit up, watching Mitch tug the torn black shirt over his head, wincing slightly. He had a few cuts on his chest and ribs, a particularly deep one on his side. You spied the scar above his right pec from Spain, memorizing the hardened muscles he developed over the past year.

“You’re hurt,” you stated blatantly.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he snapped, grabbing a first aid kit from his bag. He fumbled with a gauze and medical tap, cleaning the major wound he had with an alcohol swab.

“Well, untie me and I can help dress it,” you told him.

“Hell no. I don’t trust you,” he mumbled. Your insides stung, feeling your heart drop into the acid of your stomach.

“Why are you being such a dick, Mitch? I thought you were my best friend!” You yelled at him, scooting to the edge of the bed so you could get up. Walking over to him, you stared up at him, his eyes refusing to meet yours. “What happened to the sweet you before we left the other hotel? What happened to the man I’ve known forever? Why did he suddenly become a cunt?”

He slammed the medical supplies down, turning to face you with a hard look. “What happened to the girl I know? She turned into a cold-blooded killer! She became a wanted criminal! She became a jealous bitch that apparently has to taunt others with the fact that we’ve slept together.”

Your face fell, looking down at the ground. “You heard that…”

“Yeah, I heard that. Didn’t know I was a piece of meat for you,” he snapped, stepping closer to you. Each step he took, you took a step back, your back finally colliding with a wall. “Here’s the deal. I will untie you long enough for you to help patch up this wound. Then, you tell me everything you know about Ghost’s plans and where he is hiding. If you cooperate, they will hopefully lessen your sentence.”

You didn’t reply, nodding once, Mitch reaching around to untie you. You grabbed the gauze from the table, motioning him to sit down. It didn’t take long to patch up the wound, Mitch relishing in the feeling of your soft fingers on his stomach. He knew he had to stay strong, not letting his feelings for you affect getting you to talk.

You sat back on the bed, facing Mitch, your eyes locking together briefly. “Alright. Spill everything you know. What is Ghost planning. Where is he building this bomb?”

You glanced down, mumbling lowly after a few moments, “I won’t tell you.”

“What?” Mitch said, standing up. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“It won’t change anything, no matter what you think. I’ve killed people, Mitch. I’m not the same person you knew. Nothing will change what happened and how I feel,” you told him. He stared at you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, explain this then. Why did you start working with him?” Mitch asked.

“Why did you started training profusely after Katrina died? Why did you join the CIA?” You snapped, not meaning to sound as harsh as you did. “When bad things happen and only you can change things, you find whatever means possible to achieve them. You want revenge? You work to get it. And that’s what we both wanted. I was left for dead, Mitch. No one came for me. Not even you.”

“Y/N,” he started, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know. I was told you were gone. Just… you need to tell me everything you know. I know you’ve been hurt, but it doesn’t need to be like this. If you say nothing, you are going to die.”

“There is no changing anything, Mitch!” You finally snapped. You got off the bed, approaching him. “You don’t get it. I’m as good as dead no matter what! I go home, I die! I go back to Ghost, I die! So, fuck you, Mitch. You didn’t bother to come for me when I needed you most, so I’m not going to bother to help you when you need it most.”

Mitch was obviously growing frustrated, grabbing you by the arms and slamming you into the closest wall. “Just fucking tell me, Y/N! I’m trying to save your life, so stop being a stupid ass bitch and tell me something useful!”

“I’m not telling you a god damn thing,” you scoffed at him. “You say you’re trying to save me, but you’re doing this for yourself. You’ve only ever cared about yourself! So, fuck off. I’m not telling you a single fucking thing.”

“Fuck! Why are you being so fucking stubborn?” He asked to no one in particular. “You’re going to fucking tell me, Y/N, whether you like it or not. Where is Ghost?” His hand landed on the wall beside your head, his eyes hardening, narrowing at yours. When you gave no reply, he slammed the wall roughly, creaming loudly. “Tell me!”

“No,” you said shortly.

Mitch growled deeply, your body twinging with arousal at the noise. It was a noise you had never heard from the handsome man, but it was perfect in your ears. You glanced at the arm beside your head, staring at his tense biceps, veins producing down his forearms to his hands. His pecs flexed as the growl escaped his throat, your body unwillingly growing warm.

This was not the time to be turned on.

Mitch grabbed the front of the tight blue shirt stained with blood you were wearing, lifting you off your feet. “Hey!” you screamed at him, feet flailing around for some form of footing. You silently cursed being shorter than him in this time. “Let me down, Mitch! What are you doing?”

“Just tell me where he is, Y/N!” He yelled back.

“No!” You yelped, finally landing a kick on his shin. He inadvertently dropped you, your body scrambling on the floor for the door. Mitch groaned in pain, ignoring it to tackle you, your bodies wrestling on the floor for dominance. Every chance you got, you made a move for the door, Mitch able to stop you before you got too far.

He grabbed your ankle, causing you to fall forward, Mitch dragging you into the bathroom to keep you trapped. You kicked around in his hands, trying to free yourself, failing miserably at his strength. You were lifted from the floor and shoved into a wall, your eyes wandering to anything but his. The bathtub was filled with water, probably prepped by the hotel staff before your arrival.

“Tell me,” Mitch said, voice husky from the constant frustration and fighting. “This is your last chance.”

“And I said no. I said fuck off, Mitch,” you told him sternly.

Your eyes met his, his whiskey eyes darkened by pure, unadulterated anger. He growled like before, pulling you back to slam you against the wall before turning on his heel, dunking you under the water.

Your eyes burned from the water around you, making out his blurry figure above you, holding you under the water. Your lungs burned, craving air already. Your body struggled against his hold, nails attempting to claw at his arms, legs kicking aimlessly in an attempt to loosen his grasp on you. Nothing seemed to work, however.

You were pulled from the water, gasping for air, barely able to focus on your surroundings when his voice piped up. “Tell me what you know, Y/N!”

You gasped slightly, shaking water from your face and water. “Fuck off, Mitch.”

Wrong answer, you guessed. Without another word, you were shoved back under the water, your body aching more and more the longer you were pushed under the water. The process repeated two more times, Mitch’s anger fueling his actions. His mind was blank, only focused on the need to get information, not the potential consequences it was going to have.

You were pulled from the water again, coughing on the water you had swallowed, tears ready to leak from your eyes. Your body was giving up on your, and you weren’t sure how long you would last. “Alright! Alright…” your barely got out of your mouth, panting for air. “I will tell you whatever you want. Please, Mitch. I’m sorry.”

Mitch heard your apology, his hands starting to shake in his hold on your shirt. He stared down at you, your battered and broken body. The battered and broken body of the girl he loved. He had done that to you. He was finally able to process what happened, and he hated himself for it.

His hands slowly released your shirt, letting you sink into a sitting position in the tub. He fell back, looking down at himself. The floor and his jeans were coated with water from your constant splashing and his forcefulness shoving you under the water. He was completely disgusted with what had happened.

He carefully glanced up at you, your head turning to meet his once you had caught most of your breath. “Y/N, I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…” he rambled, trying to keep some composure. The look on your face broke his heart. “I just… I don’t know what came over me. I’m the worst friend.”

“I didn’t know we were still friends,” you murmured, cracking a small smile at him. “I mean, we are trying to kill each other.”

Mitch chuckled, shaking his head. “Fuck, I missed your dry sense of humor.” He leaned forward, taking your hand in his, squeezing it lightly. “I really am sorry. For everything. I didn’t know you were alive. If I had known, I would have… done something. Instead I trained because I wanted to take down whoever killed you. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, Mitch,” you whispered. “What a fucked up way to live. Best friends for life, right?”

“There’s that humor again,” he chuckled, standing up. “Just um… you may want to get yourself cleaned up. You’re a mess now.” He made his way to the door, gripping the handle tightly.

“Your fault, Rapp,” you called, standing up slowly, the water dripping from your limbs, clothes stuck to your body. He turned to look at you, his breath caught in his throat at the sight. It was wrong to be attracted to you in the heat of everything. “And you know Mitch, you looked rather sexy being in control like that. I’m sure any girl would drop their panties in a heartbeat if you want to tie them up in bed and take control like you did with me.”

Mitch felt his pants tighten, hustling out of the room without another word. The door shut behind him, Mitch collapsing on the floor against the wall opposite the bathroom. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing loudly. “God damn. Stop being amazing.”

He silently sat engrossed in his thoughts, listening to the shower run inside the bathroom as best he could. Which wasn’t very great apparently, seeing as he didn’t hear the water shut off, or the door opening up in front of him. He only processed what was happening when he looked up at you, water dripping from your hair, clad in just a green thong and partially see-through green lace bra. Mitch’s dry mouth fell open, gaping at the sight.

“W-what… where are your clothes?”

You shrugged at him, walking into the bedroom, Mitch staring at your ass as your walked, admiring your firm, round cheeks jostled slightly with each step. “My clothes were a little wet thanks to someone and their need to get information. Plus, they were covered in blood, Mitch. And I kind of don’t have spares.”

Mitch got up from the floor, rounding the corner to see you hunched over the bed, rifling through his bag for clothes. Your ass stuck out, Mitch’s fingers itching to caress the bare skin. It had been so long, he just wanted to hold you close.

Though his hardened cock was telling him he wanted to hold you in different ways.

You left his arms wrap around your waist suddenly, his body acting on his own, tugging your body back against his bare chest. You looked up at him, noticing the dark glint in his eyes. “Mitch? Are you alright?”

“Do you have any idea what you are doing to me right now?” came his deep, husky reply. His face burying in your neck. Soft kisses were placed on your skin, Mitch tightening his hold on you. “You can’t just walk around in nothing but your lingerie especially when your bra is see through. I can see your tits perfectly.”

His hand slid under the lacy bra, clamping around your breast tightly. A low moan slipped off your tongue, knees going weak against him. “Says the man who is walking around here shirtless. You’re not exactly the ugliest person in the world, Mitch,” you managed to get out. Your inability to focus was rising, Mitch’s strong hand kneading your breast consistently, his face buried into your neck and sucking on the sensitive skin. His teeth san into your neck, biting at it, hearing you squeal and curse. “Fuck, Mitch.”

“God, I’ve missed feeling you,” he mumbled, spinning you to face him completely. His hands cupped your cheeks, his thumbs over your reddened cheeks. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

You bit at your lip, noticing his eyes glancing between your eyes and your lips. “I’ve missed you too, Mitchy. You have no idea how much I thought about you this past year.” You paused, staring up at him, watching his tongue pass over his lips, wetting them. “Shit, this is so wrong. We’re enemies, Mitch, yet all I want to do is kiss you.”

Mitch chuckled deeply, shaking his head. “Is that all you want to do?”

Shuffling your feet, only one word left your mouth. “No.”

“Is it wrong that I want it too?”

A longer pause. “No.”

Mitch’s hands released your cheeks, resting at your sides instead. “Is it wrong if we actually do it? It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Your mind contemplated the statement for a second, finally giving in without a second thought. “Fuck no. This is too right.”

As if they were magnets, Mitch’s lips were on yours, his hands under your thighs as you jumped on him, legs winding around his waist. Your arms messily looped around his neck, almost accidently punching him in the face in the process. He didn’t seem to care, or notice even. He was too focused on kissing you, moving his lips against yours, leading you into the sexiest kiss you ever shared. A spark ran through your body, your entire body tingling from his kiss. You were officially on cloud nine.

Mitch pushed his bag to the floor, not caring if his contents spilled out. You were dropped onto the bed in a heartbeat, your lips only disconnecting for a single second before Mitch was on top of you, your lips moving rhythmically against each other, parted enough that your tongues could battle for dominance inside your mouth. His hands roamed your body, removing your bra from your frame without you noticing.

Mitch fumbled with his belt, never taking a moment to break the kiss your shared. The sounds of your lips smacking against each other filled the room, covering the sounds of his belt buckle coming undone, the leather pulled from the loops. One large, veiny hand moved both of your arms above your head, the other securing the belt around them quickly.

You pulled away from him, feeling the leather tighten around your wrists. “Mitch. What the fuck is this?”

“You wanted me to take control like before, didn’t you, Y/N? So, be a good girl and keep your hands right there,” he said, his tone low and deep. Your body squirmed under him, arousal pooling between your legs from his words.

“Yes, sir,” you mumbled, back arching off the bed as he kissed down your neck to your chest. Your body squirmed from his light touches, jolts of electricity running down your spine when he finally attached to your sensitive nipple. “Shit, Mitch.”

He kissed at the hardened peak, his fingers tugging at the other bud aimlessly. His lips tugged at it, his tongue skillfully lapping at the bud. Your mewls reached his ears, a grin of satisfaction befalling his lips against your skin. Your hips bucked into him, bound hands reaching down to entangle in his silky locks.

Mitch pulled away abruptly, pushing your arms back above your head. “What did I say, baby?” He mumbled, dark eyes locking with yours. “Hands. Stay. Don’t. Move. If it happens again, I might need to punish you.”

“Like you could,” your taunted, legs clenching. “The big, bad CIA assassin. You were barely able to keep me down before. If we were in an actual fight, you’d be downed in a second.”

“Is that what you think?” He sneered, ripping the side of your panties, and tossing the fabric clear across the room. “You want to bring that up? Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t want to kill you?”

“But when you see red, Mitchy. You could have drowned me. But you didn’t. You know why?” You asked. “You’re a pussy.”

“Oh, baby,” he smirked. “You really need to be quiet. Use your mouth for something better. Like screaming my name like every time I’ve fucked you.”

“Oh Mitchy. I can do more with my mouth than that,” you joked, wrapping your legs around him and using all of your weight to flip him. Straddling his waist, body bare for his view, you looked down at him, smirking at his wide eyes.

“Oh, that was hot.”

You grinned, shuffling down his body, situating yourself at his groin. Your bound hands struggled to unbutton his dark jeans, the zipper getting caught whenever you attempted to tug it down. “Dammit. Come off,” you mumbled to yourself, Mitch laughing at your frustration. You cast him a glare, huffing slightly. “Shut up, pussy.”

Mitch shook his head, pushing his jeans and boxers off for you, kicking the material off the end of the bed. You grinned, running your fingers along the length of his stiff cock, watching it twitch under your feather-like touch. You admired his length and girth, licking your lips at the sight of his precum oozing from the tip. You had every intention to hold it, stroke it, suck the daylights out of it. Everything you wished to do to him on a normal basis before Katrina came into the picture.

Mitch had a different plan. He leaned forward, his hands gripping your waist and spinning you around to straddle him. His hands slunk down to your hips, tugging you back until your dripping pussy was in front of his mouth, his lips attaching to your swollen clit instantly. You moaned loudly, falling forward against him, cheek nuzzling against his shaft. The man that was an inch from killing you less than an hour ago shoved his scruffy face in your cunt, kitten licking your folds, shoving his tongue deep inside your pussy to taste your juices.

You moaned, throat vibrating against him, Mitch moaning against you. Your hands gripped at his length, shakily wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, lapping at the sensitive underside. Your head bobbed at the same rhythm as his licks, his fingers replacing his mouth so he could focus on sucking your clit. The faster your bobbed, the faster he pumped, fingers curling into your sweet spot as your traced the throbbing, protruding vein on his length. Your nose would bury in the dark hairs at the base of his cock, letting the tip tap at the back of your throat. His scruff scraped at your folds and thighs, a delicious burn you didn’t regret forming.

Mitch pulled away, wiping his chin clean of your juices, having to force you off his cock and back onto the bed. You were pushed onto your stomach, Mitch positioning himself behind you and tugging your ass up against his pelvis. His hand rubbed at your ass cheek, placing a loud smack to the skin. When you let out a throaty moan, Mitch grinned.

“You like that, baby? You like when I’m rough with you?” He said, his gruff voice covering the groans he wanted to release at your whines and whimpers. His hand whipped across your ass again, a small scream breaking the silence in the room.

“Fuck, Mitch. Just fuck me already,” you whimpered, fingers twisting into the sheets under you.

“You want my cock inside you, baby?” He asked, his tip rubbing against your soaked core. “You want it hard? So hard, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow? You want it deep? So deep, you are seeing stars? You want to cum? Cum so strongly that your body withers and writhes under me, coating my cock like you used to? Is that what you want, baby?”

“Yes, sir,” you mewled, pushing your ass back against him. “Fuck me like you did before you dated Katrina. Make me scream for you like you used to.” Mitch’s heart wrenched at the mention of his deceased fiancé while simultaneously swelling that you wanted him so bad, to go back to the simple time when it was just you guys experimenting with your likes, spending hours at night with his cock inside you, screaming and cumming for each other.

Mitch’s fingers dug into your ass cheeks, his hips bucking forward until his cock was hilt deep inside you, your walls clenching around him at the sudden intrusion. Your face buried into the bed, tears prickling the corners of your eyes, attempting to adjust to his large size. He had grown since the last time you slept together, though it probably didn’t help that your only occupant since that time was your trusty vibrator. The least you could say was that you had missed this feeling, and you loved that he was back inside you.

Mitch didn’t waste time, his hips pulling back slowly and snapping back into you with great force. His thrusts were quick, pounding his cock into your pussy at godlike speeds. The sound of sweaty, slapping skin filled the air, your moans and screams getting lost in the bed. The occasional sound of Mitch smacking your ass as he thrust joined the sex-filled room, Mitch groaning and grunting.

“Fuck, babe. You’re so tight,” he whispered, eyes closing to relish in the feeling around him. “You feel so much better than Katrina ever did.” The words weren’t meant to come out, but it made your heart jump all the same. You knew he didn’t mean to say that aloud, but you loved that was how he felt. You hoped it was more than just the sex, but the sparks between you guys gave you hope that he felt something more than the friendship that was everlasting between you.

His hand darting forward, twisting into to your hair, yanking back forcefully. Your moan filled the room, your body shaking violently. You weren’t used to sex with Mitch being this rough, but you loved it. His cock pounding into your battered cunt, hitting your cervix and g-spot every time he burrowed back inside you. His constant slaps to your ass, causing your core to tighten and leak mounds of fluids onto his shaft. His hand yanking at your hair so he could hear your loud moans and screams of his name. His consistent groans and grunts of satisfaction whenever his cock twitched inside you, telling you he was close to his end. His hands held you tightly, leaning forward to suck dark marks to your neck and back.

You were bound to have countless bruises tomorrow.

His thrusts grew sloppy, his shaky hand reaching around to rub your clit. “Come on, baby. Cum for me. I need to feel you cum for me.”

“Y-yes, sir,” your straggled voice came, huffing loudly. A few rough snaps of his hips against you, the pads of his fingers rubbing circles to your clit, and your limbs gave out. Mitch had to hold your hips in place as your collapsed onto the bed, your body wracked with violent spasms. Your back arched, toes curling into the sheets, loud screams of his name bouncing off the walls. Your pussy hugged his cock, your vision going black with your orgasm, fluids splattering your walls around him, moistening his length.

Mitch groaned at the feeling around him, tugging himself free from your tight cunt. His fist wrapped around his erect shaft, rapidly jerking himself until streams of hot cum spewed from the tip, painting a mosaic of his juices on your sweaty back. He moaned, your name befalling his lips in a low voice, the last bits of his cum landing on your ass. He panted heavily, scratching at his scruffy chin, listening to your rapid breathing.

“That was amazing,” you mumbled, Mitch barely hearing you. He chuckled, nodding in agreement, not sure if you saw or now. He grabbed some tissues from the table by the bed, cleaning you and him of the white globs of sperm. He collapsed next to you on the bed, removing the belt from your hands and moving you to lay on his chest. You sighed happily, snuggling into him, inhaling his scent.

“You still owe me information you know,” he mentioned, chuckling quietly.

“Oh. Right. Well, I guess discussing the plans of a killer is good pillow talk, huh?” you joked, beginning to spill everything you knew about Ghost’s plans. Which, surprising, wasn’t as much as Mitch figured. There were bits of information that surprised him, but you kept one thing quiet from him: where Ghost was building it. Mitch figured you were withholding the information, but chose not to question.

Yet.

He shuffled off the bed, ignoring the sad look on your face. He grabbed his boxers from the floor, sliding them on quickly before grabbing his phone from his jeans. “I need to tell Stan what you’ve told me,” he whispered, looking over to see you sit up in the bed, wincing and holding the sheet to your chest. He shuffled over, kissing you quickly on the lips. “I’m sorry, baby.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you alone while he talked to Stan. You heard bits of the conversation, wondering what was going on. He told Stan the important bits you told him, Mitch groaning after Stan told him something you presumed.

“Irene will be here in the morning, Stan. What am I supposed to tell her when you aren’t back?” There was a pause, Mitch walking out of the bathroom slowly, rubbing his face. “Cover for you? Right. Whatever you say, sir.”

He hung up, sitting on the edge of the bed. You grabbed his hand, rubbing the top with your thumb. “Irene Kennedy will be here tomorrow. CIA Director, right?” Mitch nodded, not looking at you. “You can’t stop them from taking me away, Mitch. I’ve done bad things. It’s only right that they take me away and we will just have to see how the trial goes.”

Mitch sighed, finally looking at you. “If you had to choose between your anger towards the US government for leaving you for dead and helping stop Ghost so you can come back home with me, what would you choose?” He asked quietly. Your lips remained shut, knowing exactly what your answer would be. You wanted nothing more than to be with Mitch and if it meant returning to the home of your betrayers, you would. But you couldn’t easily say that aloud to the operative next to you. You needed to do whatever you could to protect him. “You’re my best friend. You know that, right? I’m not ready to lose you.”

“You won’t, Mitch. I’m not leaving you again.”

Sometimes, you wished you could believe that.

Pain | noun | \ˈpān\: usually localized physical suffered associated with bodily disorder (such as a disease or an injury); Acute mental or emotional distress or suffering.

You sat in a chair, hands cuffed in front of you, watching various people from the CIA shuffling around, trying to gather information to determine where Ghost was. Your eyes shifted to Mitch, talking with Irene Kennedy in a corner. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it clearly wasn’t good based on the scowl written on Mitch’s features. He would run a hand through his hair, grumbling before talking back to her.

Your eyes were brought back to a man, whom you heard someone call by the name of Edward, walking over to you, his hand roughly pulling you up by the arm. You stumbled in his grasp, your already sore body from the prior night screaming at you. “Let’s go, sweet cheeks. You have a one-way ticket back home, straight to maximum security prison. Hope you like your life sentence,” Edward sneered, tugging you in the direction of the door.

“With all due respect, sir,” you said, tripping you’re your feet in his haste, “you are hurting me.”

“Who gives a fuck?” He snapped, his hand wrapping tighter around your arm. You visibly winced, his hand squeezing a dark bruise you had gotten from Mitch last night. Mitch must have seen what was going on, breaking away from Irene to rush over.

“Hey, man. Lay off her!” Mitch yelled, shoving Edward off you. His outburst must have gathered the attention of everyone in the room, their heads turning and their actions halting. Edward glared up at Mitch, Mitch ignoring the look as he turned to you. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Mitch. I swear, I’m fine,” you mumbled, gripping his shirt with your hands. “But you can’t be doing this. We’re enemies, remember?”

“Fuck that, Y/N. You’re my best friend first,” he whispered.

“And I will always be your friend, Mitchy. But, we knew this was going to happen. We can’t let our personal feelings for each cloud our judgment.”

Mitch sighed, looking down. Stan’s words echoed in his mind, growing louder with each passing second. Never let it get personal. He knew Stan had been right then, and he knew you were right now. But could anyone blame him for watching the love of his life being unfairly harassed? He just wanted you safe. He finally had you back in his arms just for you to be ripped from them again? He wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

He needed you, just as you needed him. He wanted you, just as you wanted him. He wanted to go home with you, the way it always was, but he would make things right. He would find his mother’s ring, the ring Katrina wore when she was shot down, and give it to the rightful owner – you.

Edward ripped you from Mitch’s grasp, ragging you out of the room quickly. Mitch took a single step forward, ready to stop him again, when Irene cut him off. “Rapp! Enough of this. We have bigger issues right now, such as locating this bomb and securing it before Ghost can use it. He could kill thousands if we aren’t careful. First, we need to reconnect with Hurley.”

Mitch leaned on a counter, processing everything that he knew. He knew you had kept the location of the bomb hidden, and he knew who Stan had snuck off to see the night prior, telling Mitch to keep it secret from Irene. Though, the dark-haired man couldn’t keep the information to himself and had been the first thing he told Irene when she came out of talking to you herself.

Stan hadn’t been heard from since Mitch’s phone call. His gut told him that his asshole of an instructor had been captured. Ghost had a personal vendetta against the older man, and from what you had told him, Ghost would do anything to get back at him for whatever he did in the past. If Stan was captured by Ghost, that means he would find Ghost, Hurley and the bomb in the same location.

The location only you knew.

Mitch turned to look at Irene briefly, her back turned to him, running over some data with another operative. Mitch made his decision right there. He grabbed his leather jacket from the chair nearby, the one you had been sitting in, and a pair of car keys from the stand near the door, slipping out unnoticed.

He didn’t regret how recklessly he drove, hot on the trail of the car you were thrown into the back of. He sped through the streets of Rome, whiskey eyes narrowing on the black car he knew you were in. He didn’t think twice before he crashed straight into it, noses of the cars crunching together upon impact. He rolled from the car, yanking open the driver side door and dragging Edward out, punching him across the face a few times until he was out cold. He turned back to the car, your cuffed wrists secured around the second man, Damian’s, throat, the man’s face red as he went unconscious.

“Mitch?” You asked, finally moving off the man. Mitch nodded silently, grabbing the keys off Edward’s belt, yanking the back door open to slide in with you. His fingers fumbled with the key, twisting it in the small lock until it clicked, the metal clattering to the floor of the car. “What are you doing? Why are you here? And why are you freeing me?

He held your wrists, fingers rubbing over the red marks from here the cuffs rubbed. “You know where the bomb is. You know where Ghost is.” Your face paled, frowning at him. “You’re taking me there.”

“It’s not safe,” you muttered, keeping from looking at him.

“I know it’s not. But he’s building a bomb that could kill thousands of people. And I’m pretty sure he has my boss. I need to find him and stop him, Y/N. And I want your help,” he told you, using one hand to gently tilt your chin up to look at him.

“Does Irene know about this?” You asked lowly.

“Hell no.”

“Good. Time to go against the law some more, I guess,” you joked, straddling his lap as you got out of the car. Mitch groaned, feeling you press against him, mentally telling himself to keep his dick in his pants. “You coming, Mitchy?”

Mitch sighed, sliding from the car, grabbing your tiny hand in his large, veiny one, proceeding to drag you down an alley, out of the public eye. “As soon as we stop Ghost, and you get off for helping us stop him, you are fucking grounded. You are not leaving our room ever again.”

“Excuse me? Our room?” you asked, smile on your face and an eyebrow risen.

“Yup,” he said shortly, stopping to trap you against a wall. His lips skimmed yours, your breath hitching slightly. “Because I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

He kissed you softly, pulling away before you had a chance to respond. Your mind was fuzzy, confusion spiking inside you. His actions made no sense, though your heart leaped happily at the small gesture. Your fingers entwined as you slipped through the alleys, stealing a car on a road a few blocks away.

You directed him to the underground sewers Ghost chose to hide out in, parking the car a slight distance from the entrance. You saw a few men about, leaving in a car not long after you arrived. You gestured to the entrance, glancing at Mitch. “That’s it, right there. If Stan and Ghost are anywhere, it’s in there.”

“Good,” Mitch mumbled, pulling his gun from the back of his pants. “Let’s go.”

You shook your head vigorously, Mitch cocking an eyebrow. “I can’t. If Ghost sees me, he will surely kill me for ratting him out.”

“Don’t worry,” he started, voice soft. His arm wrapped around your waist, kissing your temple. “I will protect you.”

You smiled slightly, nodding slowly. Mitch grinned into your hair, taking your hand in his free one and leading you into the sewers. It was dark, barely lit, your steps faintly echoing down the long tunnels. You treaded carefully, keeping an eye out for anyone. Your hand clenched in his, afraid for his life and your own.

A giant metal gate stood in your path, a glistening silver lock and chain barring it closed. Your hand released his, tugging at the lock. “What the fuck? This has never been locked before. What do we do now?”

Mitch looked up at the gate, moving forward slightly. His muscular arms flexed as he pushed the gates apart, creating a small gap for you to slip through. Your small frame slid through easily. Mitch, however, couldn’t fit. His bulked-up frame was too large to squeeze through the opening, no matter how hard he tried. He frowned, looking at you.

“Just stay right there. We will figure something else out,” he whispered.

His heart broke slightly when you shook your head, taking a few steps backwards. “I’m sorry, Mitch. It’s for your own good. I’m so sorry.” Without another word, your turned on your heel, taking off down the dark corridor, ignoring Mitch’s calls.

You fought back tears, rounding the last corner to the main hideout. Ghost heard your rapid footsteps, looking over at you. Stan Hurley was hung by the arm with a chain, his other arm clasp by a device on the table. Hurley looked battered and beaten, blood dripping from multiple gashes along his body. Ghost’s ear was bleeding and you could only assume they had some kind of tousle while Ghost was ranting at his former mentor.

“Y/N? Why the fuck are you here?” Ghost sneered, grabbing his gun off the table. “You little traitorous wench. I should kill you right now.”

“I never told them the location of the bomb, Ghost. I got you Hurley though, didn’t I? The bits I did tell Rapp got you the man you wanted. So, what you should be saying is thank you,” you told him, sarcasm dripping off your tongue like venom.

Ghost shook his head, placing the gun back down. “So, I’m supposed to just accept you back with open arms? Is that what you expect?”

“No,” you mumbled under your breath, though Ghost’s trained ears caught the short message. “They’re going to be coming soon though. You need to get out of here. Now.”

Ghost chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “It’s a good thing the bomb is done then, huh?”

It was only when he said that did you notice the dead bodies of the men that worked on the bomb along with the dead body of the person that originally hired you to build it. Ghost had always had another agenda. He accepted the task of building this bomb for some man that disliked the nuclear treaty between Turkey and America, but Ghost always knew he would use the bomb for his own purposes. What those were, you really didn’t know. You had resigned yourself to never questioning the man.

The faint sound of an explosion sounded, smoke beginning to fill the small area you were in. Ghost’s eyes narrowed on you, his fingers wrapping around your forearm and dragging you away, the bag with the bomb strapped over his shoulder. You heard the faint grunts of Stan, struggling to free himself, and Mitch’s voice as he rounded the corner, semi-automatic he must have pilfered from one of the men returning to the compound in hand. He was shouting for you, your heart wrenching at the sound of his distress.

Ghost shoved your forward when you were nearing the exit, forcing you to walk in front of him. “You’re a dirty little liar, Y/N. You tipped off Rapp.”

“I’m sorry. He would have killed me, Ghost,” you tried to reason, feeling the barrel of his gun press to the back of your head.

“That’s a load of horse shit. You still love him, and you will never stop. What actually happened last night when you were captured? You caused the marks on your neck?” You silently cursed the various marks that lined your body from your reckless activities, knowing you had been caught red handed.

“So what if I love Mitch? Not like he will ever return the feeling. I’m just a good lay for him I guess.”

“Is that what you think?” you heard his deep voice break the darkness, taking slow steps towards you and the former CIA operative. “That I wouldn’t love you? That I just wanted to fuck you? God, you’ve always been oblivious.”

You were forced around, looking at Mitch as you stood next to Ghost. “Rapp. I wish I could say it is a pleasure to meet you, but it’s not. Especially now that you are going to die.” The gun rose, steady while he aimed. “Do you have any last words?”

“You’re not going to get away with this,” Mitch said flatly, his voice showing no signs of faulting. “I will stop you. And I will kill you.”

“Wrong answer, Rapp.”

Your eyes widened, Ghost’s finger closing in on the trigger. “Ghost, no!” You screamed, grabbing at the gun, attempting to wrestle it from his grasp. You knew you couldn’t overpower him, seeing as he had trained with the CIA in the past. But you had to do something. Your fingers wrapped around the barrel of the gun, deflecting the barrel downwards, away from Mitch’s body. Ghost glared, your bodies battling for control of the gun, your bodies struggling to overpower the other.

Mitch watched you attempt to fight off the experienced killer, unsure what was happening. When a song rang through the sewer opening, his eyes widened. His ears were ringing loudly from the shot, his blood pumping faster. Your body separated from Ghost, Ghost turning and bolting quickly, your hand moving to your stomach slowly. When the shaky limb was pulled away, Mitch stopped breathing.

Blood.

He rushed forward, catching your body before it fell, blood seeping from the hole in your abdomen. Your hand pressed to the wound, attempting to put pressure on it, wincing from the pain that was consuming your body. “Fuck, Y/N. Y-you’re going to be ok,” Mitch mumbled, moving some hair from your face and applying more pressure to your wound. You groaned, a few tears leaking from eyes.

“I’ll be ok, Mitch,” you gasped out, Mitch not believing a word you uttered. He could see the pain on your face, fear flooding his core. “Please, Mitch. Go stop him. He’s going to kill people. That should take you to the docks. He’s going to blow it at sea because it’s already armed. Stop it and fast.” Your bloody hand reached up, running along his cheek. “Please. I believe in you, Mitch. I love you.”

A single tear slid down his cheek, sliding onto your hand in the process. “I know. I love you too. Don’t you dare die on me, alright? I will be back soon.”

You reluctantly nodded, Mitch laying your body carefully against the wall. He disappeared, sparing one final glance at you. The second he was gone, you groaned loudly, shifting painfully against the wall. You let out a breath, wincing. “I don’t know how much I can promise this one, Mitch. I shouldn’t lie about promises I can’t keep.”

Your eyes were drifting closed, thinking about all the times you shared with Mitch. You didn’t register when someone dropped down beside you, or your limp body being lifted from the ground. Your mind went dark, the last thing that ran through your mind being Mitch as your hand went limp beside your bloody body.

Mitch, leaving you behind, was determined to fulfil your request, telling himself that he would return to you. You would be able to return home together, be able to be together finally. You were the only thing on his mind when he jumped onto the speedboat with Ghost. You were the only thing on his mind when he successfully killed the man who injured the love of his life. You were the only thing on his mind when he watched the bomb detonate in the water from the helicopter, clinging to the handrail.

When the explosion subsided, and no injuries were reported, Mitch finally relaxed, sinking into his seat. Stan looked over at him, a proud feeling swelling inside of him at the sight of the recruit he didn’t want to begin with.

Mitch took a moment to process what happened, jumping up in his seat. “Oh my God. Y/N. I-I need to go back for her.” Stan almost had to tackle with recruit before he could jump from the helicopter recklessly, which was hard considering the amount of injuries the older CIA man had incurred.

“Rapp, calm down,” he said, seeing Mitch on the verge of a panic attack. “She’s safe.”

“No, no. She was in those tunnels. She was shot and bleeding. I need to go help her,” he whispered, breathing picking up at the thought of losing his best friend.

“Rapp! She’s safe!” He said, gripping Mitch’s scruff chin to make him look into the man’s eyes. “I found her after you left. She was rushed to the hospital. She’s safe and will be ok. You can relax.”

Mitch shook slightly, slowly beginning to relax in his mentor’s arms. A wave of exhaustion rolled over his body, thought it was more like a tsunami in his mind. He was covered in cuts and bruises, blood dripping down his face and chest, his muscles aching from his fight with Ghost. But he was relieved, a sigh escaping his lips. He slunk back into his seat, his eyes drooping as he drifted off, awaiting the time he would see you again.

Love | noun | \ˈləv\: an intense feeling of deep affection.

Mitch sighed to himself, sitting on the chair on the beach, running a towel over his hair. He looked at the picture of him and Katrina in Spain he kept in his wallet. He sighed to himself, dropping the picture into his bag, zipping it closed. He slid his black shirt over his head, grabbing his bag and heading into the Italian hotel he was staying at since the incident.

The door clicked as it unlocked, Mitch dropping the bag on the table once he entered. He rounded the corner, smiling slightly at the sight of your sleeping body on the bed. Sure, you had been unconscious since you were admitted to the hospital, but he was glad you were ok. You had been dismissed a few days ago, Mitch begging Irene to allow you to stay in his hotel room. It took a lot of convincing, but the charges were dropped, considering you had taken a bullet for Mitch and helped stop the death of thousands of people.

Mitch sat on the edge of the bed, holding your hand in his and lifting your baggy shirt slightly to check your dressings. The doctors had said you were lucky, the bullet missing every organ miraculously. You were already beginning to heal nicely. You just had to be careful not to overexert yourself when you finally wake up.

You stirred slightly, eyes cracking open to stare up at the handsome man. He smiled largely, shifting closer to you. “Good morning, sleepyhead. Nice of you to return to the land of the living.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, slowly attempting to sit up. Your limbs were stiff and kind of sore, but you didn’t feel nearly as much pain as you figured you would. “Fuck, what did I miss?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. Another world war, we discovered aliens, Pluto became a planet again, Ghost died and the bomb killed no one, you were acquitted, I love you-“

“Woah. Slow your roll, cowboy. I know you are spewing shit, but Ghost is dead? The bomb didn’t kill anyone?” You asked, mouth falling open. Mitch frowned, laying down on the bed next to you.

“That’s all you got from that?”

“I heard you say you love me. And I love you too,” you told him, absently running your fingers through his hair without realizing you were doing so. “But I was acquitted?”

“Oh my God. You’re a loser,” he mumbled, curling into your side like a child.

“Says the grown man curling up on the injured person.”

“Shut up. You’re healing fine. I’ve been taking great take of you. Don’t be ungrateful.” He sat up, kissing your cheek. “You just have to be careful until your last few stitches come out. But you should be ok in my opinion.”

You smiled at him, twisting around to straddle his waist. You leaned forward, taking a deep breath at a small surge of pain in your system, knowing this moment was worth it. “Well, how can I ever say thank you for taking care of me?” you muttered, putting on the sexiest voice you could. You felt Mitch squirm under you, a small tent forming in his swim trunks.

“Well, you can agree to marry me first,” he stated bluntly. Your eyes widened, leaning back on top of him.

“W-what?”

“Look, I know I’m skipping some steps.” He paused, blinking once. “Alright, maybe a lot of steps, if not all of them. But I need you. I’ve loved you since we were in middle school. You’re my best friend and I was afraid to ruin what I had with you. But I can’t live without you anymore. I’m fixing what I should have fixed years ago. The second we get home, I’m digging out my mother’s ring and putting it in its rightful place.” He picked up your hand, kissing the spot the ring should go. “On your finger.”

A few stray tears slip down your cheeks, Mitch sitting up with you still on his lap. He held your cheeks, wiping the tears away, smiling at you. You just nodded at him, unable to form the words you wanted. You finally managed a straggled “yes,” Mitch flashing his pearly whites at you.

“You have no idea how happy you make me. I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” you got out, leaning forward to kiss him. Your eyes slid closed, not even caring when his lips quickly enveloped yours, taking control of the kiss in an instant. Your arms wound around his neck, threading through his hair. His hands held your waist, careful of the bandages. You both felt the spark in the kiss, your bodies heating up from your interaction.

The kiss was speeding up, lips smacking against each other, bodies pressing against each other. Your tongues swirled together between your lips, only separating for taking a small breath of air. Mitch was tugging at the baggy shirt you were clad in, ripping it over your head when you pulled away for another breath. Your breasts fell free, Mitch’s hand making contact with the plump mound the first chance he could.

He carefully rolled you over, your back pressing against the bed, his mouth never leaving yours. His hand kneaded your breast, massaging the tender mounds, his fingers brushing the sensitive peaks. Your moans were drowned out by your kisses, your bodies rolling against each other more and more.

Your hands slowly trailed down his body, tugging at the bottom of his shirt, slipping your fingers under the hem to delicately trace his abs. Mitch’s deep groan was lost in your throat, his lips pulling away abruptly from yours. He leaned back, pulling the tight, black cotton material over his head. Your fingers reached over, playing with the hairs of his happy trail, playing with the string on his swim trunks.

“You went to the beach without me?” You paused, pulling the string undone while you thought. “Wait, beach? Where are we exactly?”

Mitch chuckled, drawing circles on your thighs, grinning when he felt the goosebumps form. “Still in Italy. Right off the coast. They didn’t want to move you or Stan will you were a bit more healed. Plus, there was a bit more work to be done while you recover.” He leaned forward, pecking your lips. Plus, we all need a little vacation.”

“At least this time your proposal at the beach didn’t lead to terrorists attacking and killing your fiancé,” you jabbed. Mitch faked a frown, his heart to his chest.

“That’s low, baby. So very low.”

“Hey, you can at least joke about it a bit more now compared to before. A year ago, you would have had a breakdown at a mere mention of what happened.”

“Well,” he said, tugging the panties you were wearing under the baggy shirt down, his fingers brushing your dripping wet core. “I realized how much I love you. And how much I have moved on from Katrina. Because I’ve always had a girl by my side I want to be with.” Two of his fingers slid inside your pussy, listening to your sharp inhale of air. “And I’m much stronger, mentally and physically, than when I was in Spain. I won’t let anything happen to her. I will always be by her side to love her and cherish her and make her scream my name when I make love to her.”

“Well,” you started, your words cut short as Mitch’s long, slender digits slid inside you quickly, thrusting vigorously and curling the ends to rub your g-spot. “How about we start that now?”

Mitch grunted at your words, his thumb pressing to your clit as he thrust. Your body was already shaking at his minor movements, knowing you were sensitive from your lack of release from being unconscious. “I think we can manage that,” he murmured, his voice husky with arousal.

Your body quaked, walls tightening around his fingers, juices flowing freely around them. Your stomach tightened, a twinge of pain coming from your wound, though it was overshadowed by the overwhelming pleasure you felt from your orgasm. Your back arched off the bed, legs bending in every which way, the waves from your orgasm rolling through every pore in your body.

Mitch carefully pulled his fingers from your core, licking them clean of your juices. “So sweet,” he told himself, a blush forming on your cheeks.

“Shut up, Mitch. Stop trying to be cute.”

“Not trying, babe. Just stating the truth,” he said, rolling off the bed to undress. You heard the Velcro on his trunks come apart, the dampened material sliding down his legs quickly. Your shifted slightly to stare at his round ass, licking your lips.

“Did you know you have a nice ass?” You asked, Mitch looking at you over his shoulder. “I mean, you’re gorgeous in all ways, Mitch. Sexy face, wonderful muscles, the most delicious happy trail, perfectly round ass. Don’t get me started on your scruffy beard. Never shave it. I gladly accept beard burn whenever you decide to eat me out. And let’s not forget the giant fucking cock I love so much.”

“Is that so?” He joked, turning to face you. Your eyes visibly widened, locking on his fully erect cock standing prominently in the sunlight the leaked through the closed curtains. His hand wrapped around the shaft, stroking it slowly. The red tip glistened with his precum, your mouth beginning to water at the sight. “You mean this?”

You reached out your hands, giving him a “grabby hands” motion. “Yes. That. I want that inside me. Let me connect on the deepest level with it.” You saw his face, giggling at his deadpanned expression. “I meant you. Let me connect with you.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said, pushing you back on the bed and settling himself between your legs. The head of his cock rubbed through your folds, probing at your entrance occasionally. His hips shifted forward once, his entire length sliding in an inch at a time until he was completely sheathed inside you. Your simultaneous moans filled the room, your arms locking around his neck in a heartbeat.

You felt no need to share words. Just pure loving emotion was felt. The dark-haired assassin leaned forward, his body shifting into a comfortable position to thrust inside you. Your felt ever pulse and throb of his cock inside you, your walls hugging him every time he expanded them. His tip easily tapped your cervix and sweet spot, his girth making sure he filled you to the brim with himself. Your nails raked down his back, leaving long red scratches in their wake. Mitch’s fingers curled into the sheets, messily kissing your lips occasionally as he pounded you firmly, yet gently, into the hotel bed.

You were together on cloud nine, and you had no intention of leaving that anytime soon.

You tugged Mitch further against your body, the assassin careful not to apply pressure to your wound. Your hands fell from his back, tugging at Mitch’s hand. He buried his head in his neck, allowing your fingers to interlock with his in a passionate embrace. He grinned against the skin of your neck, kissing at nipping it, leaving a fresh bruise atop the ones that were almost healed. His hips gyrated against yours, your moan directed straight into his ear.

“Fuck,” Mitch moaned, his head pulling from your neck. His lips locked with yours, his thrusts continuing in a sloppy manner. His lips pulled away, brushing against yours as he spoke. “I love you so much, Y/N Rapp.”

You mewled at the combination of his words and the feelings he gave you, your gut swelling with happiness as you neared your second orgasm. The coil inside you was loosening quickly, and Mitch knew it. He felt it too.

You tried to get words out, but all you could muster was moans of his name, small screams erupting occasionally. Mitch felt proud that you were enjoying it, feeling a million times more connect than he ever felt with you. If this was how he was going to spend the rest of his life, he did not regret the choices he made.

His cock sputtered inside you, Mitch’s actions slowly to a steady push, his entire load spilling inside you in streams of white cum. The feeling of his hot seed warmed your insides set you over the hurdle to your own release, a long moan bouncing off the walls as your fluids coated his cock. Mitch slowly thrust into you, riding out your highs.

The thing that solidified your everlasting bond was your connected hands tightening around each other, never once letting go since they became connected.

Your pants came out unevenly, though somehow matched perfectly with Mitch’s. He pulled out of you, collapsing on the bed next to you. His arm wound around you, his hand clutching your breast tightly in his grip. You chuckled at his motion, feeling his head nuzzle into your neck. Kissing his forehead, your smiled to yourself.

“I love you too, Mitch Rapp. You’re my best friend and my lover. I wouldn’t wish for anything different.”

Mitch nodded softly kissing your bare shoulder. “You know, it’s funny. When I left on this mission, Stan told me not to let my personal feelings affect my actions. But I think my personal feelings saved you. If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t have tried so hard to save you.”

“You might have actually drowned me in Rome,” you joked, feeling Mitch frown.

“Can’t we let that go?”

“Nope. Holding it against you forever.”

“Bitch,” he mumbled, causing you to laugh. “What I was trying to get across was that I’m glad I let this one get personal.” He paused, leaning on his arm to look at you better. “Also, never watch home movies with Stan. It leads to him strangling you with computer wires.”

“Duly noted, babe,” you told him, curling into his chest. “He was right to say not to let it get personal. It almost got you killed. But I’m glad you don’t listen to orders that well. You saved me.”

“No, you saved me,” Mitch said, letting you both drift off into a well-deserved rest.

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